


On the Line

by PunkHazard



Series: Sol [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: Genji is a master of self-sabotage.





	1. Chapter 1

Kitchens are not, Lúcio idly considers as he scales two heavy-duty wire racks for a box of sugar cubes, designed for short people. That thought is reinforced upon drawing eye-level with the second-highest shelf, the sugar still far out of reach, pushed nearly against the wall and too far from the edge for him to grab. 

With only a moment of hesitation Lúcio shifts, swinging the leg braced against the far shelf over to join the one supporting most of his weight, giving himself the last few centimeters needed. He hears the entire rack creak below him as his finger snags the edge of the sugar box and draws it closer; coolly ignores the slow tilt as he tucks the cardboard against his chest and sticks his foot out to push his leaning rack back into place, as he's done hundreds of times before. 

The toe of his sneaker catches the rounded edge of a post, scrabbles for a second— and slips into thin air, bags of dried beans and cardboard boxes situated near the edge tumbling off as the angle of the shelf goes from 'precarious' to 'unrecoverable'.

It's not the first time Lúcio's life has flashed before his eyes (scenes include: standing on a crumbling step as he winds his way out of his favela toward the beach, secondhand surfboard tucked under his arm, the sun warm against his bare shoulders; Taka collapsing against his side, laughing too hard to speak; the victorious huddle he's drawn into when Vishkar finally announces their departure from Rio.)

 _Aw_ , Lúcio thinks, closing his eyes and burying his face in his arm, _shit._

When the expected torrent of dry goods and metal rack don't come crashing down on his head, he cracks his eyes open and looks down. The first blurry image to register is a shock of green, now a familiar, endearing color, and the next is Genji's face— dark eyes wide, his brows raised. Lúcio looks further, to the arm connected to the hand at the small of his back, and Genji's other hand braced against the shelf, holding it upright. "Lúcio," Genji says, then pauses. He waits for Lúcio to clamber down, assisting him gently the whole time, and finally lets go of the rack as Lúcio sweeps up the boxes and bags that have fallen to the floor. "Please," he murmurs, "be more careful."

"Thanks," Lúcio replies, acutely aware of how much heat his face must be radiating and hoping that Genji can't feel it from six inches away. 

_He thinks I'm an idiot._

That shouldn't sting as much as it does; Lúcio's sure plenty of people think he's an idiot. "Sorry about that," he adds belatedly.

Genji levels a long, thoughtful look at Lúcio, then at the rack, ducking his head slightly in acknowledgement as he leaves.

Over the next two days Lúcio passively observes the appearance of plastic milk crates under counters and beside high shelves, in the walk-in refrigerator and dry storage area— conveniently where he and Lena usually have to climb. There are none on the line, where not a single cook (of which Hanzo is the shortest) stands under five foot seven. If he sees Genji speaking to Zarya and claiming the boxes before she can send them back to vendors, Lúcio politely doesn't point it out. 

He'd noticed Genji's jawline and hair and frankly ridiculous biceps the day he'd arrived at Sol— it's hard not to. Lúcio also notes, with some resignation, that it had taken almost a year and then nearly concussing himself to finally pick up on the man's quiet, understated consideration as well and once he starts seeing it, he can't stop. The daily coffee is just the beginning of it— every staff meal Genji's responsible for is meticulously prepared, invariably delicious. He always takes care to provide Zenyatta multiple vegetable options, keeps in mind Pharah's aversion to pork, Tracer's allergy to peanuts, Gabe's mild distaste for boiled potatoes.

Knows exactly how Lúcio takes his coffee.

Lúcio sighs, tucking the box of sugar under his arm; no point reading into it.


	2. Chapter 2

Playful flirting between cooks isn't exactly a foreign sight to Lúcio but the sheer, relentless _amount_ of it that Genji engages in can't be normal. Lena and Pharah humor him, assuring Lúcio that it's not _serious_ , and McCree's occasional attempts to go head to head with the sous usually crash and burn (inevitably when Genji displays how much more willing he is to temporarily forget any sense of Boundaries). Zenyatta tolerantly accepts his affectionate nudges, the frequent chin on his shoulder, declarations of unending loyalty. Even Zarya's not exempt from the exuberant praise, and Hanzo frequently has to peel Genji away from the pastry station when he's too caught up in waxing poetic about Mei's creations.

It's most egregious with Sombra, especially considering how she's the only one Lúcio's confided in. Genji will swagger out to the bar with two cups of coffee, presenting Lúcio's with a brisk 'Here,' and then turn to Sombra with a crooked grin, that casual, effortless lean against the counter, and deliver the saucer and mug straight into her hands with some lame comment— 'Sweet and rich, just like you,' or 'It's been a while since I last kept you up all night,' and Sombra not only laughs, but she'll _play along_. 'Papi, you know just what I like,' and 'Why do you keep neglecting me for Zeny, huh?'

"You're encouraging him," Lúcio says one time, watching Genji make his way back to the kitchen. He takes a sip of his coffee— no milk, a dash of cinnamon, and just enough sugar to sweeten but not enough to overwhelm the drink. It's perfect, as usual. "Are you leading him on? That's messed up."

"He brings me coffee," Sombra tells him with a shrug, a slow narrowing of her eyes. "Nothing else's going on, Lúcio, Genji's nice to everyone."

In the lull between lunch and dinner, he has just enough free time to dwell on her words. 

It's not that Genji's particularly _cold_ toward him but the measured politeness doesn't match up with the open affection displayed toward everyone else. Lúcio gets his share of the small everyday kindnesses— the coffee, misfired entrees to eat, reminders to join everyone for lunch. When Genji experiments with new menu items he invariably saves Lúcio a sample— and Lena, and Sombra. When he notices sugar running low at the coffee station or the bar, he'll refill it without being prompted and he's never passed Lúcio a plate that's too hot to hold. 

But the easy banter, the _closeness_ , seems reserved for everyone but him.

"He sure seems interested," Lúcio sighs, taking another sip. It really is exactly how he likes it.

"Oh," Sombra drawls, "you have no idea."

"Messed," Lúcio repeats, watching Genji approach Pharah and sweep her into a playful headlock, "up."


	3. Chapter 3

Eight in the morning usually isn't early enough to qualify as excruciating, but Genji'd had a long night-- inventory always takes hours, and coupled with an unexpectedly busy dinner service, he hadn't even arrived home until nearly two in the morning. Today, he takes nearly ten minutes in the locker room, changing slowly into his chef's whites before pressing his forehead against the nearest locker, eyes shut as he idly weighs the possibility of a few extra minutes of sleep before the day begins. 

His very brief respite is interrupted by the sound of the changing room door opening and closing, then the clatter of someone at their own locker. There's a thoughtful silence, then a soft chuckle that Genji immediately recognizes.

"Hey," says Lúcio, "didn't you close last night, Genji?"

Peeling his forehead reluctantly away from the now-warm metal of his locker, Genji turns to face Lúcio with a wry, crooked smile. "You know chefs don't sleep," he quips, fighting back a yawn as Lúcio shrugs out of his sleeveless tee and takes a white button-down out of his locker. Genji very pointedly doesn't allow his eyes to linger more than a fraction of a second on Lúcio's back, his arms, the way his shoulders flex as he pulls on the shirt.

"Rough schedule," Lúcio says, sympathetic, as he dresses. "You look really tired, man."

Genji yawns again, scratching the back of his head. "It's nothing new," he murmurs. "Hanzo needed the morning, so we switched."

Nodding, Lúcio turns around and loops a thin tie around his neck, secures it in a neat half-Windsor. "We off at the same time today?" he asks, almost too casually to be spontaneous.

"I think so." Genji looks toward the ceiling, trying to recall when they had ever had the same schedule and coming up empty. "For once," he adds, moving toward the door leading into the kitchen and waiting there while Lúcio changes his shoes.

"For once," Lúcio concurs, hurriedly tying his laces and catching up to the other man. He peels off at the dining room, clapping Genji on the shoulder to begin his own morning routine. "I'll see you 'round, chef."

* * *

The next time Lúcio steps into the kitchen he brings along two little mugs of coffee and sets one-- milk, no sugar-- on the pass just as Genji turns around to do the same with a plate of toast, scrambled eggs and bacon. 

"Oh," Lúcio says, taking the portion Genji slides across to him, "you always make breakfast when you open?"

"If I do it at home," Genji answers, flashing him a grin, "I have to wake up earlier _and_ clean up." He picks up the coffee, draining half of it in one go, before picking up a plate of his own and digging in.

Lúcio turns a rueful smile on his breakfast, momentarily disarmed by just how _much_ of it Genji had chosen to split him and how heavy a meal it'll be. Still, considering how late lunch usually starts and how little time there is to eat it, he nods and picks up a fork. "Good point." He piles the eggs and bacon onto the slice of toast, pushing the bread closer to the edge of the plate and picking it up to take a careful bite. "You guys busy today?" he asks, nodding appreciatively at the taste.

Genji looks up, cheeks stuffed. He takes a second to swallow, then set down the oversized spoon he'd used to eat. "No," he says, "it should be slow."

"Easy lunch, then." Lúcio quickly works through the rest of his breakfast, trying to keep pace with Genji. He extends his hand for the other man's empty plate, and ferries both to the sink. "You really make the best family dinners, though."

Genji turns away, hiding his expression. It takes a few seconds for him to turn back, but the wide, bashful grin that he'd tried so hard to suppress is still clearly evident. "Have you been to the Rikimaru a few blocks away?" he asks instead, leaning hard on the counter.

"Nah," says Lúcio, "but I've heard good things."

"They have a decent bar as well," Genji suggests, almost as an afterthought, "if you have time after work today."

"Drinks and ramen sounds great." Lúcio hovers by the door, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. "We've never had a chance to hang out before, huh?"

Genji sends him off with a quick wave. "I'm looking forward to it."


	4. Chapter 4

They're shown to a seat at the counter, where a cook greets Genji by name and several servers come by to say hello as well. Lúcio waits for the seemingly endless stream of introductions to end, then braces his feet on the crossbar of his stool. "They really know you here," he comments, laughing when Genji looks around the dining room and sighs.

"The restaurant industry is very small," he answers, nodding as if that would explain everything. 

It probably would, considering how close by and well-known Sol is, but Lúcio didn't work for months as a manager to fail to recognize that particular brand of hospitality. He turns a wry grin on the other man. "And you're here multiple times a week?" 

Genji muffles a cough into his fist, smiling briefly as a server places one unasked-for bottle of sake and two small cups on the counter in front of him, compliments of the front of house. She takes their order before she leaves, and Genji turns back to Lúcio as another waitress brings out a small plate of karaage. "I'm here multiple times a week."

Mentally tallying the frequency at which Genji would have to come to be scoring the free drinks and appetizers that land in front of him, Lúcio pops a piece of the appetizer it into his mouth. "That's a lot of noodles," he says, eyes lighting up as Genji squeezes a wedge of lemon over the roasted yellowtail collar that comes next.

Then, Genji obligingly moves his arm out of the way as their ramen arrives-- steaming bowls in the large size despite Lúcio's clear recollection of ordering the regular. "I usually," he explains, "come with my brother after we close." 

"Oh, so all those looks," Lúcio murmurs, having already clocked all the curious, furtive glances at him from the waitstaff and cooks, "guess they're just disappointed I'm not Hanzo." He seems to shrug it off, cheerfully helping Genji polish off the yellowtail before they move in on the chicken and clear the plate. He pulls his ramen closer at last, almost full already, before picking up the chopsticks again.

"I'm sure," says Genji as he raises his cup, prompting Lúcio to clink their sake glasses before knocking the drinks back, "they are happy to see you."

Genji manages to finish an extra serving of noodles before he slumps back in his seat. Lúcio would have been shocked at the sheer amount of food he'd been able to wolf down, but he'd also watched Genji skip the dinner he'd made for the rest of the line, opting instead for a pan dulce off the pastry station. ("No one is ever hungry after they cook," Genji had said by way of explanation several weeks ago, the first time Lúcio had noticed the cooks' tendency to skip the staff meals they make themselves.)

Lúcio barely manages to finish his own bowl, bloated and tipsy by the time they finally push their chairs away from the counter. Genji swipes the bill with a promise to let Lúcio pay next time, and they shuffle toward the exit together.

"The Rikimaru in Hanamura doesn't have a bar," Genji muses as they step into the cool autumn night. It's nearly 10; they'd spent almost two hours inside the restaurant. He rarely talks about his hometown and what Lúcio's managed to glean isn't all good; besides, he doesn't sound particularly wistful.

"This one's more convenient?" Lúcio asks, laughing out loud at Genji's enthusiastic nod. 

They walk slowly, a steady drift toward the subway station three blocks away. Lúcio yawns as they approach it, rolling his shoulders as he checks his pockets. "That was a lot of fun," he says, turning a grin on Genji when he finally finds his metrocard, "let's do it again sometime! Maybe a little earlier, though."

Genji stops him before he heads into the station, a light brush of fingertips against his elbow. "Where do you live?" he asks, checking the time. "Is the commute far?"

"Bronx." Lúcio answers Genji's sympathetic hiss with a wry smile of his own. "About an hour," he adds, adjusting the collar of his jacket, "it's not too bad. I'm opening tomorrow, though."

Genji opens his mouth to say something-- hesitates, then closes it. He shifts his weight, pulling his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest, and waits until Lúcio cocks his head to the side, prompting him to speak. "If it's too far," Genji finally offers, deliberate and slow, "there is a fold-out couch in Reyes's condo. No one would mind if you stayed over, and I'm sorry for keeping you out so late."

"Whoa, seriously?" Lúcio grins, eyes lighting up at the prospect of seeing Reyes's place for himself. It's common enough knowledge that the chefs at Sol are roommates-- the only way they could afford such a cushy apartment in downtown Manhattan. The longtime staff have all been there at some point or another, but Lúcio's barely pushing a year. He hasn't yet had any reason to stay over, until now. "Where do you guys live?" he asks, before waving off Genji's apology. "And I don't mind that, I wouldn't be out right now if I didn't want to be. It's not _that_ late."

"It's about ten minutes away."

"If it's not too much trouble," answers Lúcio, "that'd be great."

"No trouble at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry im such a glutton, all i think about is food and gencio :/


	5. Chapter 5

The name 'Angela Ziegler' floats around for well over a week before she finally shows her face-- only notable to Lúcio's trained eye because of the extensive footnotes on her reservation. SUPER VIP and SHRIMP ALLERGY are pretty common, but 'FO GENJI!!!' and 'seat by the window' don't usually accompany them. Even rarer, notes reserved for the likes of Ana Amari: 'special menu' and 'curated wine list'. Completely unheard of: 'entire meal c/ genji'. 

A doctor, Lúcio learns upon some discreet questioning. Sombra makes him pay dearly (in coffee) for information but takes pity on him, giving him a quick rundown when he asks. A doctor-- one of the best in the world-- and Genji's close friend. She doesn't tell him anything beyond that but it's enough to explain Genji's behavior in the two days before her reservation. He's put in special orders from vendors, commented at length about the freshness of the edible flowers he'd selected himself from the growers, and started keeping in his pocket a pair of plating tweezers that Lúcio's never seen Genji use in the eleven or so months since he became a manager at Sol.

One of the perks: Genji's familiarized him with the entire seasonal five-course menu, sample plates and all. 

Lúcio's always liked the food at Sol but the plates Genji's slipped him across the pass are nothing like the restaurant's usual fare. A yellowtail crudo to start, plated with some sort of tangy yuzu sauce and tiny purple-yellow violets. The soup course: fish consommé with a silky poached egg sitting in the clear broth, a single mushroom and sea urchin ravioli with it ( _Onsen raviolo,_ Genji had joked.) Salad-- avocado, amaranth, cucumber and radish slices with a subtle sesame dressing. 

The main course: delicate slices of perfectly medium-rare smoked duck breast served with a creamy celery-root puree. He'd even personally made her dessert, a Mexican chocolate pot de crème topped with whipped cream, the potent fragrance of cinnamon underlying every rich bite. Tea to finish, a special blend Genji'd picked himself from Hanzo's private stash.

There are few chefs in New York City with green hair and even fewer who work with the same speed and finesse that Shimada Genji manages. He plates even the most provincial dishes at Sol with a delicacy that belies those muscles, knifework so quick and precise that Reyes regularly has him do the prep for Amari's visits. Jesse is practically Gabe's son, his favorite by a long shot-- their history goes back almost as long as Lúcio's been alive. But Reyes describes Genji with all the begrudging respect of an aging lion. That one, he likes to say, is a fucking _beast_.

Anyway.

Ziegler's half an hour late when she finally arrives in a modest black dress and practical heels, her hair swept back in a haphazard ponytail. "The surgery went a bit longer than expected," she tells Lúcio, apologetic as he shows her to her seat. Instead of giving her a menu he cheerfully tells her that the chef's prepared a special course for the night, and the pleased surprise on her face tells him that no, Genji had told her nothing. 

Genji comes out of the kitchen to greet her personally, pulling her into a hug that lasts nearly five seconds (not that Lúcio was counting) and kissing her on both cheeks as Lúcio retreats to the kitchen. Hanzo's even stepped up to plate the dishes, the Shimada brothers back in formation after planning the menu together. 

"I can't take it anymore," Sombra groans, slapping her palms against the bar counter when Lúcio wanders over, sighing for the third time within the last two minutes.

"What?" Lúcio retorts. He frowns when Genji sits across from Ziegler and reaches across the table to refill her wineglass.

"He asked you out," Sombra says, "for drinks and ramen! He's not into her."

"Drinks and ramen doesn't mean anything, the line goes out for drinks and ramen all the time." Lúcio squints at the table, where Genji's propped his chin in one hand, eyes on Ziegler's face. "I mean, I thought it might've, but he really went all out for this."

"He invited you to stay over," she says.

Lúcio waves a dismissive hand at her. "He just offered 'cause I was too tired to take the train back home. He didn't try anything."

She nudges him in the ribs, a crooked grin on her face. "Did you want him to try something?"

"Nothing," he insists, "happened."

Sombra stares at him for a long second, skeptical. Then she pours herself a shot of something strong and clear, knocking it back.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Lúcio arrives at Reyes's condo, the party looks as though it's been in full swing for well over an hour. He hefts the bottle of whiskey he'd brought over his shoulder and steps inside, waving cheerfully at the chorus of greetings that inundates him. His gaze automatically drifts to Genji, briefly catching his eye before the chef turns away, back to sharpening a knife at the island. Pharah's, judging by the anxious way she leans across the counter.

Jesse takes the liquor off his hands; Gabe motions him toward a table of sandwiches (cut into charming little triangles, of course) and more drinks before he returns to the kitchen area. Lúcio helps himself to a handful of chips and a can of ginger ale, drifting with his loot to join Zenyatta and Lena at the couch. "They do this a lot?" he asks, offering his plate.

"The chefs have menu planning sessions every other week," Zenyatta informs him, taking a chip as Genji hands Pharah her knife and motions her toward the fridge, "but this is only twice a year."

"You're gonna help with dinner?"

"Soon."

"Can I lend a hand?" Lúcio sits up straight and sets down his plate, straining his neck to see over the counter. He shrugs out of the light jacket he'd worn to ward off the brisk spring weather and leaves it on the arm of the couch, rolling his shoulders. "Would I just get in the way?" 

"No," Lena answers, "the chefs love it when we help out!"

"Huh," says Lúcio, eyeing the drink in her hand and the pink flush across her cheeks.

Cupping her hand over her mouth, Lena whispers, "I've been banned from the kitchen, though."

Lúcio shakes his head, laughing as he hops to his feet and wanders over to Hanzo's side of the counter. "Anything I can help with?" he asks, hovering at his side just far away enough to avoid taking an elbow to the chest. 

"I'm fine here." Hanzo toes open a cabinet and grabs him a white apron from it, then motions over his shoulder toward the stove. "Ask Genji."

Lúcio quickly pulls on and ties the apron, looping the strings around his waist and securing it with a solid double knot. At the sound of a clatter, his head whips around, smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he sees Genji hastily turn away, pick a wooden spoon off the table and wipe the sauce that had spilled onto Reyes's marble countertop. "Sure," he says, sidling over to the younger Shimada as he leans down to retrieve something from the oven, "whatever you need."

Genji points with his chin at a pot of onions sizzling on the stove, right hand occupied by a knife to test the lasagna held in his pink-mitted left. "Move those around," he says, then flashes a smile. "Thanks." 

Lúcio takes the spatula Genji indicates and moves easily into position. "No problem."

* * *

"I think," Lúcio says later as Sol's entire crew moves from the dining area to the living room, "I did alright."

"Yes," Genji agrees, laughing as he takes a long swig of beer and flops onto the couch, "fabulous onions."

Lena leaves a space for Lúcio on the couch between her and Genji, cheekily ignoring the dismayed look McCree sends her way when he approaches and finds the opening just a little too narrow for comfort. Jesse sighs, dropping into Genji's lap instead to a loud, unhappy complaint. They scuffle for nearly a minute before Genji manages to shove McCree away, beer miraculously unspilled and both of them still wheezing with laughter. Lena takes the moment to pat the spot beside her and wink. 

"C'mon Lúcio," she says, trying and failing spectacularly to sound casual, "sit with us before someone takes your spot!"

He takes the chance, wedging himself between Genji and Lena as the movie (an old classic: Disney's Ratatouille) begins. On his left, Lena pinches his leg, elbows him in the ribs and finally settles down when he pointedly ignores all of her indiscreet signals. On his right, Genji shifts to make room, just enough to not be squeezing Lúcio against his side but decidedly not far enough to unstick them from the hips down. 

"This," says Genji, chucking his empty can at Hanzo to toss in the trash for him, "is my favorite movie."

"Oh yeah?" Lúcio replies, unable to suppress a chuckle. The man is clearly drunk and trying not to show it-- he manages for the most part, but on any other day Genji would definitely have been able to make the shot directly into the tiny trash can across the living room. He always makes a point of doing it in the kitchen, anyway.

On any other day, Genji would also definitely not be slinging his arm over the back of the couch. He's careful not to disturb Lúcio's locs or make any more contact, a fairly reasonable thing to do for someone with shoulders as broad as Genji's stuck on a couch with _this_ many people.

Still. Lúcio never does manage to pay attention to the movie.


	7. Chapter 7

Saturday mid-shift is _technically_ one of the easier weekend services, but Lúcio had closed the night before and he'd been feeling under the weather for a week already. Putting together a new single over the last month's worth of days off didn't help, and neither did consecutive all-nighters to collaborate with a buddy in Australia. If he were being honest, he'd brought it on himself with the scheduling— choosing consistency for the front of house over convenience for himself as a matter of principle.

He can't be blamed for taking fifteen minutes after his shift, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his back against the locker for a brief cat-nap before heading home. 

What Lúcio doesn't expect, after what seems like moments after closing his eyes, is Genji gently shaking him awake, a drawn, worried expression on his face. 

"You clocked out an hour ago," he says softly, one hand on Lúcio's shoulder to steady him, "are you all right, Lúcio?"

Lúcio takes a moment to appreciate the idea that in any other industry, he'd probably already be in an ambulance on the way to an emergency room. In this one, even the mildest concern is more than he expects from the tough-minded staff in Reyes's kitchen. He allows Genji to pull him to his feet and shifts his weight under the other man's careful scrutiny. "I'm alright," he offers after an awkward beat of silence, trying not to think about his hour-long commute, "messed up my sleep schedule, is all."

"If you want to rest before going home," Genji suggests, "you can do it at our place. More comfortable."

It wouldn't be the first time he's crashed in Reyes's condo, and Lúcio privately suspects that it won't be the last— the apartment is roomy, close to work. It doesn't hurt that McCree and Hanzo are both on today, Gabe all the way across the country in Oakland to visit family. 

"That sounds good," he says, an easy acceptance, as if _being alone with Genji_ isn't a factor at all in his decision. 

* * *

It takes ten minutes at a leisurely walk to reach the building, and Lúcio sniffs his collar as he steps inside the pristine apartment. The neurotic fastidiousness all four residents display at Sol is evident here as well, in everything from the sleek, understated decor to the arrangement of furniture. Even Jesse's scruffiness hides a meticulous professional, no trace of cigarette smoke in the air. 

Genji gestures for Lúcio to make himself comfortable, then beelines to the kitchen. He sets out a pot and cutting board.

"Mind if I use the shower?" Lúcio asks while Genji grabs an armful of vegetables out of the fridge. He plucks at his shirt, fanning it against his collar. It hasn't started to _stink_ , but after nearly ten hours of standing in front of a muggy pass, inundated by kitchen smells, it's certainly not fresh. 

"Of course," Genji calls after his shoulder. He tilts his head toward his room. "I have a change of clothes, if you need."

"I might need,” Lúcio concedes after a second, not looking forward to sleeping in the jeans he’d worn to work. “You sure?"

"They might be a bit large on you," Genji says, sounding apologetic as he leaves the counter to grab Lúcio a pair of basketball shorts and a sleeveless jersey from his own room, "but Jesse's and Hanzo's would be even worse, I think."

“I’ll get these back to you on Monday,” answers Lúcio, accepting the clothes with a sunny grin. “Thanks, Genji.”

* * *

The inclination to shower at least twice a day had faded somewhat over his first winter in NYC, no longer subject to the oppressive Amazonian heat and humidity but exposed to subzero temperatures instead. Still, if Lúcio's learned to appreciate one thing in the city it's the water pressure, and Gabe's shower doesn't disappoint. Genji had even brought him a set of clean towels and house slippers, politely leaving the former by the sink and the latter in front of the door.

He stands under the stream for nearly ten minutes after soaping up, allowing hot water to beat against his back and shoulders, loosening muscles that had been tense and bunched all morning. Each roommate has his own corner shelf of product hanging in the stall and he almost laughs at how obvious it is which one belongs to which: McCree’s generic store brands; Reyes’s single bar of soap; the fine-tooth comb and matching shampoo/conditioner set for Hanzo. 

Genji’s shelf, the bottom one, is the most cluttered. Lúcio’s well aware of his (former) reputation, and decides that while it’s not out of the realm of possibility for Genji to voluntarily use brands that promise to heal split ends and make him smell like lavender, it’s much more likely that he’s been using up the remnants of past flings to reduce clutter and save money. Resourceful. 

At least, Lúcio ruefully considers as he stumbles across half a bottle of the exact same brand of unscented shampoo he uses for his own locs, that would make it convenient for him if he ever has to stay over again.

* * *

Lúcio fights through his post-shower sleepiness to wolf down the plate of curry and rice Genji sets out for him, and by the time he’s finished he’s practically bloated, more than ready to fall into an extended food coma. Genji wraps up his own shower when Lúcio stands with his used plate, emerging from the bathroom in nothing but his sweatpants, a towel draped over the crown of his head and his t-shirt slung across his shoulders. His eyes land briefly on Lúcio’s prosthetics, but he makes no mention of it before moving on.

“I can take the couch,” Lúcio offers as Genji motions for him to leave his dirty utensils in the sink. He ignores the gesture, giving the plate and spoon a quick scrub and rinse before setting them on the drying rack. “Don’t wanna impose.”

“My room is fine.” Genji pulls on his shirt and ducks into said room, indicating that Lúcio should follow him in. “When Jesse and my brother return,” he explains, making a quick round through the space to collect the clothes scattered across the floor, “we will need the couch.”

Genji’s room looks significantly more lived-in than the rest of the apartment— more personal touches, just enough clutter to give it a familiar warmth. Nodding, Lúcio wastes no time in making himself at home in Genji’s bed, spreading the towel he’d used to wrap his locs over the pillow to keep his still-damp hair from dripping and burrowing under the covers as the other man waits by the lightswitch. “Then,” he mumbles, yawning, “I’m just gonna pass out.”

The lights turn off, Genji’s silhouette hovering in the doorway for a few seconds before he leans against the jamb, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Lúcio,” he says, finally, sounding deeply tired, “what happened today?”

“Couple all-nighters, like I said.” Lúcio lets the skeptical silence stand for a bit before he sits up, wringing the edge of the blanket in his hands. “If I start dropping the ball, I’ll figure something else out.”

Genji uncrosses his arms. His weight shifts, and he hooks his thumbs awkwardly into his pockets. “It’s not your work,” Genji tells him, voice kept deliberately even, “that I’m worried about.” 

The statement takes a while to register, but when it does, Lúcio can only blink. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” says Genji, “I know you can handle yourself, but—“

Lúcio interrupts him with a frantic time-out gesture, waiting for the other man to stop talking before he says, firmly, “No, it’s my bad for making you worry.” He grins, sheepish that he’d managed to forget that the crew at Sol had become a family to him, that they might be invested in his condition outside of what he could do for the restaurant. He’s certainly felt the same toward them for some time now. “I thought,” Lúcio explains, “that I could push out this track I’ve been working on before the busy season, but I’m getting too old to be doing stuff like that.”

The silhouette of Genji’s shoulders relaxes, easy slope evident even in shadow. “What do you mean,” he teases, the wry smile on his face perfectly conveyed in his tone, “you’re not still a college student?”

That gets a laugh, and Lúcio flops backwards, rolls onto his side, pulling the comforter up to his nose and breathing in the clean, sharp scent of it. Muffled: “Won’t happen again, chef. I owe you.”

“For you,” Genji quips, shutting the door as he backs out of the room, “anytime.”


	8. Chapter 8

One night of "drinks and ramen with the line" finally gives Lúcio enough data to draw one, concrete conclusion: He can't keep up. 

He's been out with Sombra and Lena, and the three of them average a very respectable tolerance for alcohol. Ramen consumption isn't _impressive_ but they can all scarf down a shared appetizer and at least one serving of noodles each with no leftovers. They stay out decently late given an afternoon shift the next day, and they rarely call taxis to ferry someone home. 

His first night out with the line in its entirety involves midnight drinks after the Easter rush. Lúcio watches Hanzo and McCree drain two cans of beer each after their shift while Genji and Fareeha down one each, and pop open a bottle of sparkling cider for Zenyatta, assuring him that they'll get him good and trashed for his birthday. They break down and clean up faster than Lúcio has ever seen, and head out into the still-chilly New York streets with no hesitation.

Sombra leaves him with a smirk, announcing to the rest of the staff that she has a videocall home to make, and Lena ducks away with a brief warning to Lúcio that going out with the back of house can get pretty wild. Reyes agrees to one drink, but the knowing grin on Jesse's face is a clear indication that their head chef's night rarely goes according to plan.

Genji leads the way to Rikimaru, instantly turning his charm on the hostess who greets them at the door. Her expression is exasperated but affectionate; the crew at Sol always rolls in late but tips generously, and she shows them to an offset room that seems to have been prepared in advance for their party-- not surprising to Lúcio, considering how tight-knit restaurant industry pros are in New York. They don't even order, dishes coming to the table without prompting minutes after they sit. The server, a middle-aged woman who greets Hanzo with a polite bow and Genji with a brutal cheek-pinch, sets down the first of many rounds of sake.

Lúcio would admit to Sombra the next day that he has absolutely no recollection of that night past about two in the morning, his last clear memory being the image of Hanzo pouring McCree a shot and Genji practically draped over his shoulder, urging him to take it. He'd hoped that the (frankly obscene) amount of food he'd eaten would prevent a hangover, but no luck.

He knows that he'd ended up crashing on Reyes's couch, and he couldn't even look at the still-hot breakfast that someone had left him on the table. A text from Genji tells him to feel free to raid their medicine cabinet for whatever ibuprofen he can find, punctuated with the mischievous devil-horns emoji he seems to favor lately. Lúcio walks the ten minutes to work feeling like something a cat might've vomited up behind a toilet while the painkillers kick in, stepping in to a kitchen already in full swing. McCree looks tired but he still moves at his usual blistering pace. Fareeha's in top form, having exercised the same restraint and self-control one might expect of Ana Amari's daughter. 

Mei had stopped drinking about an hour before Lúcio lost track of the entire night, having volunteered herself as the designated driver (or taxi-caller, as it were). Hanzo looks the same as usual-- tired, but clean and efficient. Reyes is scheduled to come in later, to take over the closing shift. 

Lúcio makes himself a cup of coffee, meeting Sombra's laughing eyes with a baleful stare of his own. Lena waves to catch his attention, pointing not-at-all discreetly toward the pass when Genji finally emerges from the prep kitchen. 

He's in a rare state of disarray, hair tousled, and the buttons on his chef's jacket improperly done. Genji squints against the bright flourescent lights in the kitchen, dark semicircles under his eyes even more pronounced than usual. His careless grace has been replaced by deliberate, steely caution, not wasting a single movement. No sign of the usual small flourishes he sprinkles into his gestures, mouth set in a grim line as he approaches Fareeha's station. 

He must have come in not very long ago at all, and Lúcio notes with some satisfaction that if he can't keep up, neither can Genji-- at least, not anymore. He grabs a plastic pint container, filling it with coffee, a dash of milk, and throws a lid on for good measure, deliberately leaving a gap to let steam escape. Lúcio trots up to the pass and waits for Genji to look at him.

They meet eyes first, the tiredness in Genji's face instantly replaced by a wide, warm grin. He sees the coffee second, brows jumping in appreciation as Lúcio extends it to him. "Usually I'd get you a proper cup," Lucio offers, "but it looks like you could use a pint today."

"Thank you," he says, fervently sincere as he accepts the coffee. Then, looking hesitantly up, "Did you eat this morning?"

"I can't stomach anything right now," Lúcio answers, smiling sympathetically at the falter in Genji's expression, and he barely considers his next words before they tumble out of his mouth: "But let's grab something after your shift." He ignores the accusatory _'Favoritism!'_ McCree calls over, and the crooked grin on Fareeha's face as she watches their exchange. "There's a churrascaria in Midtown I wanted to try, it's open late."

"Steak?" Genji asks, absently prying the lid off his coffee and taking a sip. "That sounds good."

"I'm off at ten," says Lúcio. "See you then?"

Ignoring the light punch Pharah lands on his upper arm, Genji nods, his expression dazed. "I'm looking forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (:


	9. Chapter 9

There's a commotion on the pass for family meal, but Lúcio's spent a long lunch dealing with belligerent customers while hungover and the noise, the conversation, the boisterous yelling and shoving on the line feels like too much even from a distance. He retreats to one of the walk-in refrigerators instead, privately consigning the meal to something he won't even get a chance to taste-- Genji and Hanzo's staff meals always disappear, as if by magic. The portions are usually _just_ right, which leaves very little room for error, and the food is always perfectly cooked, a treat every time they step up to prepare it.

Rather than spend too much time mourning his lost opportunity, Lúcio opens a plastic container for a honeycrisp apple. He briefly considers asking to borrow a knife from a cook on the line, slice it properly, but the thought of actually wading into that crowd brings up the same problem as retrieving actual food, so he takes a bite out of it and regards the disarray on the walk-in shelves.

He's seen Reyes wander into the fridge and then be distracted for up to twenty minutes at a time, busy rearranging and consolidating produce. Hanzo and Fareeha also spare the time and effort, but it only takes a half day before more maintenance needs to be done. Lúcio's eyeing the half-empty carton of apples, wondering whether or not he could shift them to a smaller container, when the edge of the walk-in door bumps into his back, between his shoulder blades.

He shuffles out of the way, turning to see Genji step into the fridge with him and allow the door to shut behind. "You aren't eating with us?" Genji asks, looking very slightly wounded at the prospect of Lúcio skipping a meal he'd made. "Lena said that lunch was rough on you."

"I just wanted some downtime." Lúcio takes another bite of the apple, exhales, watches his breath fog in the cold. "Sorry to miss your family meal, chef."

It's then that Lúcio looks down to see a plastic to-go box in Genji's hand, its lid steamed up and obscuring whatever's inside. "I saved you some," Genji says, extending the box with a crooked smile, and he catches the apple Lúcio tosses to him in exchange for the food. "Before the monsters on the line could finish it."

It's still warm, and Lúcio holds the box closer to his chest, grinning. "Thanks, Genji."

"There is," says Genji, reaching into the pouch his apron makes against his chest to pull out something wrapped in aluminum foil, "one other thing."

Lúcio unwraps it, deft fingers making quick work of the material while Genji crunches into the apple. He pulls back the foil to reveal a golden brown, flaky crust wrapped around a blistered yellow custard in the center. "Wait... no way!" Looking up in disbelief, he laughs, "Pasteis? Is that what you were working on all morning? They're such a pain to make, I can't believe..."

"Bad day to miss family meal," Genji offers lightly, taking a moment to discard the apple core into a trash bin just outside the walk-in. 

Lúcio hasn't looked away from the pastry, carefully extricating it from the rest of its wrapping. "Thanks for saving me one."

"My pleasure." Genji lets a very satisfied silence pass as Lúcio opens his mouth, prepared to shove the pastel into his mouth whole. "Happy birthday, Lúcio."

Just before his teeth can close on it, Lúcio freezes. The tart almost falls out of his mouth, but he catches it. "It's not my birthday?" he says, brows furrowing.

"I am pretty sure that it is," Genji answers, sounding equally confused.

Lúcio visibly wracks his brains, taking a thoughtful bite before his eyes widen and he grimaces. "Oh," he says sounding unconvincing even to himself, "you're right, Genji. I totally forgot. It's definitely my birthday."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, alright." Lúcio sighs, his cheeks puffing out on the exhale. "The IDs I'm using right now... don't have my actual birthday. Reyes and Sombra got them for me so I could lay low in New York for a while."

"I see."

"I really appreciate this, though, I haven't had pasteis in ages." He looks up, meeting Genji's contemplative gaze and quickly polishing off the rest of the pastry. "I mean," Lúcio continues, crumbs flying, "I've had the kind you can get in Chinatown and they're great, but they don't taste like the ones I can find at home, like this one. I'm getting another one even if it's not actually my birthday."

"That is alright with me." A smile, at last. "Happy fake-birthday, Lúcio."

Lúcio laughs again, brushing crumbs off his hands and then breathing on his fingers to warm them. "Even if I am celebrating it in a giant fridge." 

Shifting, Genji moves to set his back against the walk-in's vent. He extends his arms to brace them against the rack behind Lúcio's head. "Better?"

"Lot better."

"Good."

Lúcio looks up and internally startles at how close they're standing, how easy it is to have Genji looking at him with that soft, amused smile on his face, that curious tilt of his head. He's acutely aware of the arms on either side of him, close enough to feel their warmth, Genji's broad shoulders walling him off from the grate venting freezing air into the cooler. The bit of shelter is nice. The proximity is nicer. 

He could get used to this.

"Lúcio," Genji says, and he doesn't get any further before Lúcio sets down the food, cups a palm against his cheek and pulls him down. Genji comes willingly, no resistance at all, and Lúcio pushes himself up on his tip-toes to meet him halfway. 

Their first kiss is brief, only a soft press of lips before Genji pulls back, expression serious. He frees one arm, moving it from the rack to curl behind the small of Lúcio's back and pull him close, grinning as Lúcio's arms wrap firmly around his neck. "Just so we're both on the same page," Lúcio breathes, eyes closing when Genji presses their foreheads together, "tonight is a date?"

"Yes," answers Genji. He releases Lúcio reluctantly, with one last kiss promising many more to come; they've spent too much time in this fridge already. "But first," he says, bumping the door open with his hip and holding it for Lúcio as they step back into the kitchen, "dinner starts in an hour."


End file.
